The Transition
by phezl
Summary: This is a Lizzie Bennet Diaries fanfiction. Chapter Five: A conversation between episode 98 and 99 in which Lizzie and Darcy decide how to label their relationship.
1. Chapter 1

I can hardly believe it, but sitting across from me at the nicest Italian restaurant in town are Jane and Bing, together again. They are as incredibly in love as they were before Bing unceremoniously left, without so much as a goodbye, for Harvard Medical School at the end of the summer. That little twist of "fate" of course being the direct result of the man sitting next to me: William Darcy. But when I dare a glance in his direction, our eyes meet and he surprises me with a smile, as well as a head nudge in the lovebirds' direction. It doesn't make any sense. He should hate me as much as I hated him. Unlike him, I would deserve it.

Of course, William Darcy is no saint. He did, after all, cause my sister terrible and unnecessary heartache. My initial impression of him was also not without _some _merit. He judged my worth upon our first encounter without even knowing me. He believed that he knew best when it came to his best friend's life. But then, on both counts, I did the same.

And then there was that traumatic fight we had when I was visiting Charlotte. He insulted my family, though perhaps not entirely without foundation. He had the gall to expect me to say yes to the ridiculous idea of being his girlfriend. How could he possibly expect me to say yes, given what he'd done to Jane? Given the audacity he had to ask me out while simultaneously offending me? Given the fact that he couldn't possibly know me at all, when he didn't even know I hated him?

But I had insulted him right back. I attacked his character, with my only evidence coming from the Wickham-who-shall-never-again-be-named, which really was only evidence of my completely embarrassing bout of girlish gullibility and my ability to be offensive by hitting a sore spot without even knowing it.

It is incredibly confusing, especially when I consider his behavior following our confrontation-to-end-all-confrontations. Not only did he address all my grievances against him, but it's almost like he has been actively working to rectify them ever since. He was unnervingly kind and good-humored when he caught me touring his company's building—a move, to my mortification, that must have looked like I was treating my rejection of him carelessly. From the satisfaction he is exuding at his moment, I just know that he is responsible for the cute-fest of "Jing" to which I am currently bearing witness.

I'm frowning, I know, into my mostly uneaten food as I try to reconcile the Darcy I thought I knew with the one I've seen recently when Lydia, who has been drinking more wine than everyone who is legal, leans across me to speak to Darcy.

"I never thanked you," she whispers loudly.

"It's not necessary," Darcy replies, in a tone that suggests he wants those to be the last words on the subject.

But, Lydia being Lydia, she will not be denied, and she plows on.

"No, seriously. Thanks for getting rid of Wickham." She takes both of her hands and places them on his shoulders. "Seriously."

She says this with all the solemnity a drunk Lydia can muster.

Knowing her proximity is making Darcy uncomfortable, I manage to extricate her from him while ordering, "Lydia, just eat your pasta." before my brain processes what I've just heard. Lydia whines, "But it's already gone!" but my attention is elsewhere as I pivot in the opposite direction from her, mouth open in shock.

"That was _you_?" I ask Darcy with reverent incredulity.

He nods curtly in response as red blush crawls up his neck.

I'm just blinking, my mouth still hanging somewhat open, when I realize Jane and Bing are standing up, and Bing is talking to me.

"Hey Lizzie, I think it's too dark to walk back. With all the luggage in my car, I only have room for two more. Do you think you could get a ride back with Darcy?"

I narrow my eyes at what I'm sure was a brief wink from Bing in Darcy's direction but reply, "Sure, no problem."

Darcy and I walk to his car in silence, but when we reach it, he stops first at my side to open the door for me before heading over to the driver's seat. I internally groan because, in my mind, every chivalrous moment of his is just further proof of what a horrible, cruel person I am. He offers me control of the radio, but I tell him the indie CD he has playing is fine.

After a few minutes I blurt out, "I am so sorry."

He turns his head to look at me, shocked. "You don't have to apologize to me."

"Of course I do! I misjudged you, I willingly believed the worst in you, I was too harsh…"

"No, you weren't. You may not have been right about everything, but you were right enough."

"I spent all this time trying to get over my misgivings, to just let myself love you, that I didn't once think that you might not feel the same way. I was thinking about reasons why I shouldn't like you, but I never considered there were reasons you wouldn't like me!"

His eyes meet mine, and I'm startled by their mournful nature. His next words are thick with apology.

"You were right. I was an arrogant, prideful asshole."

Something about William Darcy making himself vulnerable and admitting he is wrong pulls at my heartstrings, and I find myself defending him.

"I shouldn't have been so angry about your concerns. I know my family is a financial crisis waiting to happen, that my mom is crazy and manipulative, and that Lydia needs to work through a lot of issues. I just couldn't stand someone else being so blunt about what I don't like to admit to myself."

"And if you were an arrogant, prideful asshole, you wouldn't have changed your mind and convinced Bing to come back. You wouldn't have completely revamped your attitude."

"I had to," he cuts in. "I had to show you I was listening. I had to change the things about myself that could make someone hate me—"

"I don't," I cut in. "Hate you, that is. How could I hate you after what you did for Lydia?"

At this he smiles a soft, small smile. "Then at least it worked."

"What do you mean?"

He replies with a tone that implies he is saying something obvious. "Well, I did it for you, didn't I?"

I blink twice before responding. "Wait, so _you_ don't hate _me_?"

At this he lets out a laugh. It's the first time I've ever heard him laugh, and I can't help but notice how different it makes him look. His face is almost…warm.

"I thought I'd told you, Lizzie. I would never dare hate you."

Ours eyes meet again, something that seems to be happening tonight a lot more than I'm comfortable with. His convey mirth mingling with sadness, whereas I'm sure mine are screaming uncertainty. The silence is almost too much when my phone rings. As if a spell has lifted, I fumble with my phone, managing to hit the speakerphone button.

"Hello?"

A brisk and unfortunately familiar voice demands to know, "Is this Miss Elizabeth Bennett?"

Annoyed that of all the people I have to deal with in my emotionally confused state, it's Saint Catherine, I can't help but reply saccharinely, "And what can I do for you, Ms. Catherine, at _11 PM on a Saturday_?"

She barks, "Don't play coy. You know exactly why I'm calling."

"Well, no, actually I don't," I reply through clinched teeth, "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't yell at me for no reason."

"No reason! The impertinence! I am of course referring to the article in tomorrow's newspaper, that I just learned was running, of you and my nephew being _in a relationship_."

I balk and glance at Darcy, who seems just as confused as I am.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh please. As if you didn't seduce or bribe someone at the paper to put this obvious lie into the paper."

"_Excuse me!_" I yell. "Look, I don't care how prominent you are in the entertainment industry and how my career will probably suffer because you clearly hate me, but I don't have to listen when you accuse me of things I didn't do."

"So you admit that the story is false?"

"Well, since you've just declared it to be "an obvious lie," who am I to contradict you?"

"My nephew is way too important in this industry to waste his time and taint his image with someone like you."

"Glad to get that cleared up. No need to worry. This small town nobody isn't dating your precious nephew, OK?"

"Hmph. Good. And do you promise you never will?"

"No I won't. I only promise things to people I respect. Goodbye Ms. Catherine."

I push to end the call with a satisfying amount of force. Coming down from my confrontation-high, I realize that the car has stopped, and that we are parked outside my house. Darcy is looking at me with something akin to awe.

"I guess I just like knocking people off of their pedestals," I joke.

My breath is still quick, my heart still racing, my limbs still slightly shaking in anger. Darcy notices and starts running a hand reassuringly down my arm.

"Are you OK?"

Starting to feel myself relax a little, a let out a tentative, "Yeah."

"That _bitch_," he declares.

I laugh and smile wide. Then something gives me pause.

"Wait, did you, William Darcy, just make me laugh?" I ask dumbfounded.

He replies in mock indignation, "Hey, I've been known to be funny, from time to time."

I smirk, and tease, "Oh, I believe you."

Then we're both just sitting there, smiling. He's staring at me. Into me, really. Looking back at him, it's clear that he still loves me. And I don't hate him. I find myself wondering if there was more to my refusal of Catherine the Great's demands than my anger at her presumptuousness. I wonder if the Darcy I saw with his sister, and then again today, asked me the same question he had a few months ago, what my answer would be.

I'm saved from answering my own question when Lydia bangs on my car window.

"Lizzie, what's the hold up? Get your ass out of the car—we're going to watch _Bridesmaids_ and Jane was making me wait for you!"

I roll the window down. "Oh shut up, you've seen that movie over five times, you can wait ten minutes."

I give Darcy a loaded "thank you" before getting out of the car and closing the door behind me. I walk a few steps before, on impulse, I turn around and put a hand on the edge of the lowered car window for support as I lean down to his eye level.

"Goodnight, William."


	2. Chapter 2

Acting on autopilot, I close the passenger seat window while watching Lizzie's silhouette disappear through her front door. The entire journey back to Bing's house, I don't have a single coherent thought. After parking in the driveway, I stay inside the car while I try harder to focus. My senseless jumble of thoughts, however, react to this mental pressure by retreating completely, leaving me with only faint inclinations of what previously had been so overwhelming. Frustrated that in a moment when I would really like to know how I feel, I can't interpret my own mind, I jump out of the car, grab my bicycle, and start pedaling down the street without even changing.

Speeding through the suburban neighborhood, with only the dim, orange hue of the street lamps, the mellow chirping of the hidden insects and the refreshing summer night breeze for company, I can feel myself relax. I concentrate on the rhythmical motion of my legs, up and down and up and down again, until my mind wanders, as it always seems to lately, to Lizzie.

Just thinking about her has a way of brightening my mood, making the ends of my lips curl up for an easy smile, as though my body knows I am happy before I do. I shake my head, trying to dispel my natural, satisfying reaction. I know I am in love with her — I have treated this as fact since I made this conclusion on a similar bike ride months ago. But I also know it is unhealthy. It's what I told Bing when he stubbornly refused to emerge from his Jane-induced sulk. It occurs to me that it's actually quite ironic. I ordered Bing to move on while I was eager to pursue my relationship with Lizzie, but it turns out it is Bing, and not me, for whom the reciprocated love of a Bennet sister is destined. I pedal faster.

I start to formulate a strategy for slowly weaning myself out of love, but instead I keep seeing her leaning on the car window, staring straight at me, and saying my name for the first time.

"Goodnight, William."

Her use of my first name was purposeful. It had to be. She had walked away from the car, only to turn around to wish me goodnight. She had stared at me with her striking green eyes reflecting what I could have sworn was affection. Not to mention her refusal to deny she was in a relationship with me to my aunt. Granted, Lizzie was obviously not in a cooperative mood, but if she loathed the accusation of being my girlfriend, she would have candidly denied it. If I were to weigh the evidence, the results from this evening would be in my favor.

Wouldn't they? As rational as I try to be, I know full well that the last time I made an analytical decision based on what I thought of as unbiased reflections of our interactions, I was mortifyingly wrong. I was left staring at a door that was slammed behind me, breathless and tense with adrenalin, my lips still faintly tingling from a kiss that, though initiated out of relief after unfurling all of my feelings, left the tangy sting of unexpected rejection.

It was that day just a few months ago that I learned of the pain that comes with expectation. I had meticulously made room for her in my future —accommodations anticipated due to my love for her — only to discover that my planning was premature. That I made space only to have it be left vacant. As prosaic as it sounds, her rejection left me with a hole in my life. And in my heart.

By now my calves have acquired a pleasant burning sensation and I can feel my dress shirt starting to stick to my chest, so I whip the bike around and start pedaling back to Bing's. As I pedal, I try to come to a decision regarding what path I want to take. I could protect my remaining dignity and go back home, resuming my work and life in an attempt to achieve the contentment that I had just a year ago. I could try to limit my interactions with Lizzie to the inevitable times when our paths would cross because of Jane and Bing. I could.

I remember after leaving the office that day, I was livid. After all, what right did she have to think so poorly of me? I knew I was loyal and hard working and compassionate. That I was a good brother. A good person. So what if I wished she weren't poor or family to…less than desirable relatives? If her circumstances were better, everything would be so much easier. Convenient. As soon as that thought occurred to me, my anger instantly faded away and was quickly replaced by shame. I loved her, but I was worried about how she would make my life _inconvenient_? Suddenly all those concerns I had wrestled with my entire time at Netherfield up until I saw her again at Collins & Collins seemed incredibly self-centered. I was worried about how she would reflect on me, yet it never occurred to me that I could reflect poorly on her. I had _expected_ her to say yes. I should have known. Lizzie never does what I expect her to.

I could leave, but I won't. Not when I've found someone who makes me want to deserve her love instead of expecting it to be given to me. I resolve to screw my pride. It's never done any good when it's come to Lizzie anyway.

Somehow this conviction makes me surer of our recent interactions. I realize that it is because this time I was paying attention, not just to how I felt, but also to how she did. When she visited Pemberley, she had been atypically reserved. Still Lizzie, but a Lizzie who was determined to prevent her eyes from meeting mine. I think now that she acted, not out of hatred or indifference, as I had feared then, but from embarrassment. I suddenly appreciate that I wasn't the only one who regretted my behavior. I reflect on her immediate and easy friendship with Gigi, wondering, if her actions, like my own recently, were motivated by a desperate desire to make things right. With this perspective, I consider tonight's car ride, including her apologies, and gratitude, and that moment when we both really looked at each other and time blissfully suspended, and I begin to dare to hope.

By now I've reached Bing's house, so I carefully lean my bike against the garage wall and sneak inside and upstairs to my designated room as silently as I can. Leaving the lights off, I shrug out of my now rather sweaty dress clothes and pull on some pajamas before plopping onto the bed. Although I have decided tomorrow will be a day of risk, I am too tired to be anxious. Instead my thoughts circle around a pair of fine eyes, reciprocated kisses, and her voice softly wishing me goodnight.


	3. Chapter 3

It's Saturday afternoon and the house is unusually quiet. Jane is out making up for lost time with Bing and Lydia is, remarkably, in the library studying for her finals. Deciding I might as well take advantage of being alone, I arrange my camera and prepare to film my weekend video.

"Hello, good people of the Internet! As you saw for yourself last time, Jane and Bing are together again, and their relationship has picked up right where it left off. Which means at dinner last night, I saw _a lot_ of googly-eyes being made across the table." I say this with equal parts joy and fake exasperation.

"Watching them is somehow adorable and sickening at the same time. It's like they exude love and happiness out of their pores in a way that is contagious and immediately makes you wish you were as in love as they are. Good thing Darcy was there." I pause, hearing my own words, and can feel a blush creeping up my neck in response.

Attempting to recover, I clarify, "It's nice to have someone who has to suffer along with you."

Eager to move on, I continue to the later part of the evening.

"Speaking of Darcy, he had to give me a ride home because Bing didn't have enough room in his car. We actually managed to clear the air between us. That is… until his Aunt called." The muscles in my neck stiffen at the memory.

"I hit the speakerphone button because I thought it would just be Jane or Lydia, so Darcy got to hear her accuse me of planting a story in the news about how _we're dating_. After all of our misunderstandings, _this_ has to happen! And his Aunt actually accused me of sleeping with someone just to get that story printed! I know she was overbearing when I visited, but I had no idea how pretentious and rude she really is. Just because she's rich and successful she thinks she can judge me and order me around, just like her stupid, sickly dog! UGH!" My rant just comes spilling out through clinched teeth until I conclude with an incomprehensible grunt of anger.

I sigh. "After all the progress Darcy and I have made, his Aunt had to ruin everything." I pause, considering. "I also probably shouldn't have _completely_ lost my temper, but it's hard not to when someone is directly insulting you!

"Anyway, it's probably too late to salvage this mess now anyway."

I shrug dejectedly while muttering as an aside, "As much as I may want to."

Suddenly, I hear a knock at my door. Before I can process the oddity of someone asking permission to enter my room, I call, "Come in," over my shoulder before turning back to the camera.

"Lizzie?" a deep voice says questioningly.

I nearly fall off my chair in shock, saved from embarrassment by grabbing the edge of my desk at the last second and righting myself.

"I'm sorry!" he apologizes earnestly, "Your mother just sent me up. I didn't know you were filming. I'll just come back—"

"No!" I exclaim hurriedly, before saying in a more calm voice, "It's fine. Why don't you sit down?"

He hesitates before lowering himself a respectable distance next to me. He glances at the camera.

"Oh, I was just catching the viewers up on recent events," I explain before leaning over to turn off the camera, careful to watch the light turn from green to red.

"Good, good," he murmurs absentmindedly. His thoughts are clearly elsewhere.

I wave my hand in front of his face. "Hello? Darcy? You in there?"

I can see him return back to the present moment and he grins sheepishly.

"Sorry. I just…" he exhales deeply before continuing, "I need to tell you something."

I try to avoid a creeping sense of déjà vu.

* * *

"I need to tell you something."

I can see from her face that she too is remembering a conversation that started very similarly to this one. I smile faintly when she looks up at me, hoping to promote a sense of camaraderie between us.

"Um," she says in a tentative way I find adorable, "Ok, shoot."

"I was planning on heading back to the city on Monday."

"Oh." She looks and sounds surprised. Maybe even disappointed? This gives me the courage to continue.

"But I can't. Not without asking you something." Her eyes are full of questions, so I plow onward to dispel her uncertainty and prevent myself from backing out when I've come so far.

"I still love you. I still want you to be my girlfriend. And I wouldn't even be telling you this again, and I promise I won't ever do this again, but after last night, if I didn't, I would always wonder: has your opinion of me changed?"

My heart beats loudly in my chest as I speak, but I am at least satisfied that my words and tone adequately reflect the depth of my sentiments. I gulp down my nervousness and ask tentatively,

"And…if it has, do you think you could ever love me back?" My heart is clenched so tightly in my chest it's as though she is literally rather than figuratively holding it in her hands as it waits to be either accepted or crushed.

For the next few seconds there is only silence punctuated by shallow breaths. Lizzie simply sits there, staring at me like she is on the brink of a decision. The seconds go by until I am overcome with the feeling that I have made a huge mistake. I close my eyes and turn my head to the side only for her to turn it back towards her, her hands framing my face. With determination in her eyes, she takes a singular long breath, and then she is kissing me.

Following a few seconds of shock, my hands immediately snake their way around her waist, drawing her to me. I take a few moments to enjoy the feel of her so close, of her lips on mine, before breaking the kiss. I extricate a hand from her waist to bring it to her cheek. Smiling, I ask, "So that is a yes, I take it?"

She scoffs and replies flippantly, "Of course not."

My hand drops from her face, and my mind begins to reel, but she quickly takes my hand in hers. I sense she is both apologetic and in disbelief at my denseness. "Kidding, William. Kidding."

"Right."

She points a finger at herself and then at me. "You and I," she says teasingly, "We need to get our communication skills on par with our kissing."

I can't help but let out a bark of laughter.

Lizzie shushes me and tilts her ear near the doorway. "I hear footsteps."

Lizzie quickly scoots away from me just before Jane's voice enters the room, quickly followed by Jane herself.

"Lizzie, Mom says dinner is in ten minutes. And who was that I—oh, Darcy!" The shock is evident in her face. "What a pleasant surprise!"

I've proven myself no expert in the ways of Jane Bennet, but I definitely see her give Lizzie a pointed look with eyebrows raised.

Jane turns back to me, smiling like the angel Lizzie always describes her as. "You're welcome to stay for dinner. We'd love to have you."

Flustered but unwilling to pass up an opportunity to stay longer, I quickly accept. I watch Jane exit only to turn back and notice Lizzie has stood up. She asks lightly, while proffering her hand, "Well, are you coming along or not?"

I accept her hand, and reply, in one of my more suave moments,

"For as long as you'll have me."


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: I wrote the first three chapters a long while ago. This chapter could be grouped with the earlier chapters, or it could be considered a separate story. It does take place assuming that Darcy just confessed his feelings to Lizzie for a second time, and that she kissed him in response. I do intend to continue writing the scene immediately after this one when I have more time.

Lizzie can feel Jane's eyes on her all throughout dinner. Some of her sister's time is of course dedicated to smiling sweetly at her definitely-but-she-is-not-quite-ready-to-admit-it-yet boyfriend, but every spare moment she gets, her eyes hone in across the table to where Lizzie is sitting next to Darcy. A glance at her fellow victim of Jane's laser-like suspicion tells Lizzie that Darcy is either unfazed or unaware that he is the subject of sisterly scrutiny. A contributing factor may be that he has bigger concerns, namely, motherly disapprobation. Much to Lizzie's dismay, her mother has decided that the easiest way to welcome Bing back into the Bennet family fold is by contrasting his personality with Darcy's.

"The fish is delicious, Mrs. Bennet. It's way better than anything I could ever make."

As much as Lizzie values Bing's polite self-deprecation and earnest charm, she finds herself irked by the alarmingly wide smile his words have motivated onto her mother's face.

"Why thank you, Mr. Lee," her mother practically croons, "It's so nice when a young man appreciates someone's efforts. Without any compliments, one might be left to think that he simply _expected_ the consideration of others." Although her mother is speaking to Bing, she is looking straight at Darcy, and Lizzie can feel her face flush with mortification.

She isn't sure who to be more ashamed of, her mother, or Darcy, who doesn't seem to have the sense to at least _look_ guilty. He looks more uncomfortable than anything, as though he knows he should be saying something without having the instinct to understand _what_ that something might be. She slips her left hand underneath the table and grabs his right one from its rigid position on his knee. He jerks slightly in surprise, and when his eyes make contact with hers, she nudges her head in the direction of her mother with what she hopes is a pointed enough look.

He waits a few minutes for an opening in the conversation, or perhaps to formulate a suitable question. When an opportunity arises, Darcy clears his throat before shifting in his seat towards Mrs. Bennet and asking, in what, to Lizzie's relief, is a genuinely curious tone, "How did you prepare the cranberries, Mrs. Bennet? My sister always asks for them during Thanksgiving, but our chef's are far too sweet for my liking."

Lizzie watches her mother, who at first looks at Darcy with clear skepticism, as though wary and confused that he would deign to speak with her directly. Then the indirect praise of his remark occurs to her, and she gifts him a small grin before launching into an extensive explanation of her family's cranberry recipe. It occurs to Lizzie that her mother's reaction to Darcy's attention is quite similar to her own so many months ago. Unwilling to dissect that unpleasant thought, she decides instead to focus on Darcy, who, to his credit, is listening intently. She softly brushes her fingers, which are still entangled with his outside of view, against his palm. Though his gaze never shifts towards her, she catches the slight upturn of his lips. She then feels eyes on her, and glances across the table, noticing that though Jane is distracted by conversation with Bing, Lydia is now fixing her with a penetrating stare.

Unwilling to succumb to the pressure of either sister for now, she ignores Lydia and stares studiously at her plate for the rest of dinner, choosing to focus on the comfort she feels in the warm hand wrapped around her own.

As soon as dinner is over, Darcy excuses himself to make a call to his sister. He leans down and whispers into Lizzie's ear, "I received 20 text messages from her during dinner. I believe they consist of more exclamation marks than words" before slipping outside. Jane and Lydia take the opportunity to corner Lizzie and begin their interrogation. They both utter, "Lizzie, spill" with authority, their hands on their hips, in a way that would be funny if it didn't make her so uncomfortable. She holds her hands up defensively.

"Just back off, ok."

She tucks a stray hair behind her ear while looking at Jane, who she knows must be the good cop in this scenario.

"We kissed."

She spits out the words, laying them in front of her, only to shuffle awkwardly in place, as though afraid to look at them.

Both sisters simply stare, unsatisfied until she offers more.

"He loves me, and he was going to leave again, so I kissed him. I ran out of reasons to _not _be with him. He made me want him. Satisfied?"

She slowly raises her eyes to meet her sisters', hesitant and unsure how they will respond. Her terse confession has made her feel small and vulnerable, and she doesn't know if it's because it has showcased her uncertainty or her lack of it.

Jane's expression has softened, while Lydia's is verging on manic.

"Oh my god, you love him. What the hell are you still doing here? Get your no-longer-perpetually-single ass out of the house and jump his bones already!"

As though knowing her words will not be impetus enough, Lydia has started pushing Lizzie down the hallway and out the front door. Lizzie pleads for help by calling out the name of her older sister, but Jane, who has an uncharacteristically mischievous grin on her face, does not come to her aid. Just as Lydia has successfully shoved Lizzie out of the front door, Jane closes it gently in her face.

"It's for the best, Lizzie. We are helping you face your fears."

After staring blankly at the shut door for a few seconds, she begrudgingly makes her way down the driveway to meet Darcy at his car while shouting back, "Whatever you have to tell yourself so you can sleep at night!"

When she is a few feet away from him, Darcy turns around and notices her. She can hear Gigi's ecstatic voice through the phone, though she can't make out the words.

"Gigi, I have to go. I will call you tomorrow."

Then he hangs up on his sister, during what Lizzie is almost certain is the middle of a sentence.

"Hello." His greeting and posture are timid, as though waiting for her to tell him where they stand.

She isn't sure she knows.

"Would you like to go for a walk? There's a small park a couple streets from here."

His reply is a simple, "Yes, I would like that." He looks at her hand a second before reaching out to grab it.

She tugs their joined arms along, and begins to lead him down the street, her mind and heart abuzz with confusion as to why, in this moment, in the midst of Lydia's recovery, her imminently due thesis, and the uncertainty of everything that is her future, she feels more secure than she has in months.


End file.
